


for the love of (the spaghetti remix)

by Lets_call_me_Lily



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 3490
Genre: Birthday, Cap-IM Remix Relay 2020, Character Study, Cooking, Established Relationship, F/M, Food, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Introspection, Married Couple, Married Life, POV Natasha Stark, Remix, kitchen musings, the other kind of food porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:07:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22528336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lets_call_me_Lily/pseuds/Lets_call_me_Lily
Summary: Natasha Stark: Iron Woman, genius, inventor, philanthropist, billionaire, married. And, though not commonly known, an accomplished cook.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Natasha Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41
Collections: 2020 Captain America/Iron Man Relay Remix





	for the love of (the spaghetti remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [upsetti spaghetti](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22277083) by [starksnack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starksnack/pseuds/starksnack). 



> For the 2020 Cap-IM remix relay. Thanks to Neverever for being a second pair of eyes and to wynnesome for the beta!
> 
> This work was part of the Cap-IM Remix Relay Tree chain - you can see the full chain of works [here](https://cap-ironman.dreamwidth.org/2068461.html)!

The warm smell of smoked paprika and garlic fills the air as Natasha tends to her saucepan of marinara sauce. She is as in control in the kitchen as the lab, with a quiet intensity written into every line of her features.

Today is Steve's birthday, his 35th, and he's out doing PR for the charity that will receive the proceeds for the annual gala held in his honour. It was the only way he'd agreed to attend, back when he was first approached about it. Natasha is still proud of herself for suggesting the condition. It's hard work, convincing Steve to do non-emergency public appearances. Now he looks forward to beating his fundraising total from the previous year.

Meanwhile, Natasha is hard at work recreating a version of the dinner they'd shared on their first date. Dessert will be both the affogato they'd ordered that night, and Steve's favourite: pineapple upside-down cake. it's a hard dish to find outside of people's homes, and resultantly a rare indulgence. The Avengers don't have much time for baking, and whenever Steve tries to follow a recipe he balks at the amount of sugar and butter—as if scarcity is a problem still, and he with a single coin burning a hole in his pocket.

But his slack-jawed joy when faced with freshly-made muffins, his adorably noisy slurps of spaghetti, his enthusiasm when approaching a new eating experience or a nostalgic favourite… all are a continual source of delight to Natasha. 

Sometimes, after a frustrating day, she will knock out some tagliatelle aglio e olio, or bake cupboard cookies, just for the pleasure of Steve's genuinely appreciative reactions. 

Making her husband a kick-ass meal—from scratch—is not something she does often, but Natasha likes to demonstrate that she can do it without compromising herself. It's a skill set that may change others’ perceptions of her, but it sits comfortably alongside her competence with a blocking hammer.

Natasha has always loved the give and take in cooking, how she can alter recipes or just take a bunch of ingredients and transform them into something delicious, a dish that not only satisfies her appetite, but also her palate. There is a certain freedom in leaving precise measurements behind and knowing that her food will nevertheless turn out well. An excitement akin to inventing, when she sets out to create a cohesive meal out of disparate elements.

And the thrill of smelling freshly baked bread and ripping a chunk off too early, eating it dripping with butter; the satisfaction when a dahl has the perfect spice blend; the gratification of crunching into a crispy schnitzel crust; these never fade. 

It's sublime. An expression of love, as Jarvis liked to say. His hands press ghostly indents into her shoulders when she fries latkes. Whenever she takes the time to roll sushi and eats the ends as she goes, she hears Rumi's exasperated laughter. With each velvety mouthful of limoncello and almond crostata, she breathes in her mother's Eau de Coeur Joie perfume and sees the graceful line of her neck. She is enveloped in their love, renders it anew with every meal she makes.

Fresh cinnamon rolls make for great distractions at 3am after a nightmare. Brownies, with their gooey richness, help Natasha to slow down and breathe for a minute, a meditation of folding batter and chocolate thoughts after an acrid-flavoured board meeting. 

Out of determined spite born from harsh media coverage and Howard's admonition to "watch her figure" when she was ten, Natasha doesn't diet. She has never counted calories, refuses to feel guilty for eating fats and desserts and carbohydrates. Thanks to Jarvis' steadfast teachings in the art of fending for herself in the kitchen, and her mother's insistence that she know how to host a dinner, Natasha has the skills to impress and some fond memories to accompany them.

But after entering a pie-making contest in college as a dare and catching the American public's attention by coming second place (may the devil take Grace for that trick with the rose essence infusion), Natasha rarely cooks for others. A hint of competence in the kitchen, and suddenly she is accused of abandoning her metal inventions for housewifery. A boyfriend had been summarily dumped for presuming one home-cooked meal to signal that he should expect one every night. Being a home-maker is an occupation in itself, and Natasha admires the women whose passions lead them to pursue it full-time, but it's not her, and she resents the assumption that picking up a ladle means putting down her welding torch.

Natasha had wanted to cook for that first date with Steve, but was wary of setting a precedent. She didn't want to come up from a day in the lab only to be asked "what's for dinner, honey?". And, equally, she didn't want to tip her hand too early. You can taste the love that goes into a meal, as the saying goes. Steve wouldn't have been able to miss it.

So she had taken Steve to a small Italian restaurant down the street from Avengers Tower, where he ordered spaghetti alla marinara. 

Six months and four days later, it was where she proposed to Steve over the same dish. Then, tight-lipped and heart clenched, she had wanted a measure of familiarity amidst the political and personal tensions. She had also wanted somewhere relatively public, in case things went wrong. Neither of them could afford the bad publicity of a screaming match by that stage, and camera lenses were a wonderful deterrent for tears. Luckily for her, and the superhero community, things didn't go wrong.

Now, the simplicity of spaghetti alla marinara is something of a touchstone, associated with love and luck and _Steve_. Natasha lets the sauce simmer and fills a pot with water, adding in a brimming tablespoon of salt. While she waits for a roiling boil to begin, she starts on the affogato. She won't top it with ice cream till it's being served, but the rest can be done beforehand.

She is so immersed in plating dessert that Steve's arms, snaking around to tuck her into his chest, take her completely by surprise. His cologne, a scent that she'd helped him pick even before they'd started dating, mingles with the sharper smells of orange liqueur and coffee. Natasha relaxes back into his arms and warns, "Don't even try it, Steve Rogers. You can have the cream as part of the affogato."

"But it tastes so good." Steve tucks his face into the side of her neck, the words brushing over her like warm kisses.

Not so easily distracted, she catches Steve's wandering hand and redirects it from the bowl with a fond pat.

"Be patient," she admonishes.

He steps back to take off his jacket, loosen his tie and untuck his shirt, wilting comically under her stern eyebrow.

"But I'm the birthday boy," he pouts.

Natasha presses against the warmth of his front. "And I'm the one who cooked." Her smile has a hint of teeth, daring Steve to disagree.

The timer for the pasta goes off, and she turns to fish a strand out of the pot, holding it out for Steve to try.

"Perfect, as always," he compliments, eyes closed as he relishes the taste.

"Thanks, I try."

"You do more than try, sweetheart. I love it when you cook."

"Well, happy birthday, Steve. Now come eat dinner so that we can get to _dessert_." She wiggles her eyebrows mock-suggestively.

Steve brings her hand to his lips, tongue slipping out to lick at the rogue streak of cream on her knuckle.

"I love you," he murmurs.

"I know."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Dinner Plans (Food is Love Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22792303) by [Neverever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neverever/pseuds/Neverever)




End file.
